


The Light Before My Eyes

by amdg2846



Series: Land of the Living: Missing Scenes, Oneshots, and Alternate POVs [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves his Houseplants (Good Omens), Crowley doesn't have snake eyes anymore, Crowley is free from Hell, Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Crowley's Sunglasses, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hints of Crowley and Satan, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Just two supernatural entities going house hunting, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), References to Sex, Self-Reflection, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), The things we love become Real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 08:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amdg2846/pseuds/amdg2846
Summary: The morning afterThe World(and Chapter 15 ofLand of the Living). Freed from Hell, Crowley adjusts to some changes and prepares for some more.“There shall be no more Night, or nightmares seen in a glass; / But Life shall hold me alive, and Death shall never deceive me.” —G.K. Chesterton, The Crusader Returns From Captivity





	The Light Before My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Periphyton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periphyton/gifts).

Crowley stretched luxuriously in the pale dawn light striping across his bedroom. What a thing it was, waking up! He wouldn’t have said before that it was the point of sleep, but now… Sleep used to be its own indulgence, an escape from himself into the darkness. Now it seemed like nothing but the means of waking up again, a way to feel the world remake itself around him.

He heard Aziraphale clinking about in the kitchen. Crowley smiled. Last night had been… Well, he’d have to tire out the angel more thoroughly next time, if he was already up and puttering. They could only have slept for three or four hours. Something to work towards, he supposed. 

Rolling out of bed, he stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, then over the wooden tray that sat on the bedside table. Two wine glasses and a nearly empty bottle. The cheese and grapes must be safely back in the refrigerator. Aziraphale would have seen to that. 

An aroma of rich coffee was making its way into the bedroom. Crowley breathed it in deeply, fondly, and went to splash some water on his face. As he laid aside the towel and turned to leave, he caught his own gaze in the mirror and stopped, looking back at himself. He had known, of course, that his eyes would be different. He had known since he had woken up yesterday. Colors were different, brighter, richer; the light had stabbed him at first. And Aziraphale had killed the Serpent—of course he wouldn’t have kept his Serpent’s eyes.

The facts of it didn’t render the sight less startling. Crowley leaned forward, staring at the mirror. His eyes were...his. He both recognized them, and didn’t. He would never be who he was before his Fall; he wouldn’t go back, and his eyes hadn’t gone back either. But Lucifer’s foothold was gone—that trace of himself that he left in his thralls, his way of subjugating and bestializing them (the eyes of a Serpent, a swarm of Flies, scales, slime, sticky tongues—whatever was foul and abased and took away dignity, turning comrades-in-arms into servants, then into chattel)—it was gone, and Crowley was only himself, whatever that was.

His new (old?) eyes were the same color as the Snake’s; still yellow amber, warm gold, but deeper. They were human-looking. Was that how they were in the Beginning? Crowley hadn’t looked, before. Not a lot of mirrors in Heaven, not a lot of reason for them. It was himself he recognized in his eyes now, not the color. He wondered if they would pass for human. He thought they might.

He thought of his sunglasses. Nearly two thousand years now, covering his eyes. You grew attached to something like that after a while, even something small. In however many iterations, his shades had been with him far longer than his car or any of his other possessions. Would he still wear them, now? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t really need them anymore, but the thought of giving them up was more than uncomfortable.

His sunglasses had always done more than just allow him to move among people undetected. How many lies—dangerous lies—how many flickers of fear or disgust had they hidden through the years from his colleagues and superiors Below? How many moments of almost pleading, or hungry looks across tables had he allowed himself because Aziraphale couldn’t see? How many treasured details had they let him store up in his memory: the deceptive lightness of the angel’s powerful hands, the shifting worries and pleasures on his face, the steadiness of his movements, the lines of his clothing, changes in breath, flicks of the tongue? Crowley had stared and stared and stared, safely screened behind dark quartz or faience, glass, then plastic. If he tried, he could probably remember every single pair. You grew attached to something like that.

Turning his face slightly to the side, he noticed that he had retained the brand of the Serpent through whatever Aziraphale had done to him on the night when he broke the chains. Crowley didn’t quite know what to make of that. He supposed it was only a mark, nothing particularly significant. Somehow its presence was...comforting? Something more immediately familiar amid the strange and unnerving familiarity he saw in the mirror. He wondered if he ought to feel that way about the brand. It wasn’t a mark of anything good. Shouldn’t he be ashamed of it? 

Crowley studied himself for a while longer, bemused. He could not seem to feel much distress at his appearance, but it was far too uncomfortable for him to feel joy. Eventually the lure of coffee (and the chance to look at Aziraphale in the daylight, with his rich new sight) drew him away from the mirror and out to the kitchen. He summoned his usual clothing on the way, and was unsurprised to find Aziraphale standing next to the kettle in his frock coat and bow tie. Not everything had to change. 

“It’s good to see you up and about,” Aziraphale greeted him, setting his newspaper down on the worktop. “How do you feel?” He smiled tentatively, shy, as though he hadn’t spent a good part of last night with his legs wrapped around Crowley’s middle and his hands fisted in Crowley’s hair. Crowley shook his head and smiled. Not everything had to change.

“Fine,” he answered, “never better. And thanks for the coffee.” He crossed the room and poured himself a cup, and the two of them stood looking at each other. 

Aziraphale broke the silence first. “I don’t know if you remember mentioning this last night,” he said, picking up the paper and handing it to Crowley, “but I’ve circled a couple of properties for sale, just one or two in Hampshire and Sussex. I thought, perhaps, a few days out of the city might appeal?” His ears went a little pink as he spoke.

Crowley smiled again behind the newspaper. The page was covered in circles and penciled notes. He sipped his coffee and handed the paper back. “I’ll drive,” he offered ironically.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Aziraphale asked, concerned, searching his face. Crowley nodded his reassurance, and continued to sip his coffee.

He watched Aziraphale openly as they breakfasted and chatted. He was allowed to watch him now, after all, as appreciatively as he liked. The angel was bright and lively, full of life. Or maybe Crowley himself was. Or both of them. Crowley hadn’t dreamt last night at all, not a single nightmare. He felt well and truly rested, despite the little sleep. The whispers around his heart had gone with the Serpent, and he hoped that no one would ever call him _ darling _ again (unless it were Aziraphale, he supposed, but Crowley was happy to find that he could not picture that). This was a new life, a new world in a way, or at least a new way of seeing it. The coffee was good, and the smell of buttered toast was more appealing than he remembered. Maybe he’d have a bit. And he would go to look at chalk hills and cottages with Aziraphale, and smell the sea. Why not? The Almighty’s job offer was waiting for him, but it could wait a while longer. Right now, Crowley felt that he had more important things to do.

He stopped in the green room as Aziraphale went to collect his books from the bedside table. The houseplants were back in pristine condition, but Crowley still felt a pang of guilt at the memory of hacking them to pieces in his wretched anger. _ You ought to apologize_, Aziraphale had said of them last night. _ They suffered quite an ordeal the other evening_. Crowley looked around furtively. Aziraphale was probably out of earshot. He raised a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered, “Sorry, guys.” But he followed up by casting a stern gaze around the room, lest anyone should mistake his apology for lax discipline. None of the plants quivered or shook—one of them nearby started leaning slightly toward him. Crowley scowled, but stopped himself before he said anything; he turned on his heel and stalked back out to the corridor. He would let it slide this time.

Before he and Aziraphale stepped out of his flat, Crowley reached into his jacket and pulled out his current pair of shades. They settled comfortably on the bridge of his nose, as though they had their own inanimate sense of belonging there. Aziraphale looked at him quizzically, and may have been about to say something. But a look of understanding passed across his face, and he simply smiled and took Crowley’s arm. They walked down to the car, Aziraphale already making suggestions about places to lunch near Winchester. Crowley felt more and more himself as he slid into the Bentley and started the engine. By the time they were hurtling through the streets of Southwark, Aziraphale clutching the edge of his seat, Crowley was positively at home in the world. Not everything, he decided, had to change.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by [shenhai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenhai/works).
> 
> The title is adjusted from the lyrics of "Sunglasses at Night" by Corey Hart, in response to [Periphyton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periphyton/pseuds/Periphyton)'s lovely oneshot, [I wear my sunglasses at night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143987).
> 
> I love and respond to all comments, and I welcome suggestions and prompts (though I can't promise to fulfill them all).
> 
> Come find me on tumblr, [agnesandcecilia](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/agnesandcecilia), still blogging about ineffable husbands/ineffable bureaucracy and no one can make me stop.


End file.
